Clandestine (House of Oak Book 3)

by Nichole Van

  She did not.

  “I barely recognized you in that dress.” Daniel, being his typical self, didn’t know when to stop. “I thought I saw you come out of the Old Boar Inn, but I just couldn’t believe my eyes. I’ve been following you for the last little while just to be sure. You’re here! I have no idea how or why . . . but . . . but here you are! You just look so different . . .”

  Suddenly, all of Kit’s relief morphed into rage. After everything that had happened, the impossibly stupid things Daniel had done—this latest scrape being the last in an incredibly long line of frustration-inducing behavior—

  And all he could focus on was her attire?

  She swatted his shoulder, only barely controlling an urge to full-on punch him. “You idiot!” she hissed.

  Daniel wrinkled his brow. “Happy to see you too, sister dearest.”

  Gah! He had to be about the most clueless, daft, imbecilic—

  Kit growled, attempting to control her swelling anger.

  She stabbed a furious finger into his chest. “How could you?! How could you get us into this mess?”

  Gaze instantly shuttered, Daniel batted her finger away.

  “Us?” He pointed a similar accusing finger at her. “You aren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to stay at home.”

  “Right. Stay home. And what? Deal with the horrid aftermath of your disappearance? Sit around wondering what you planned to do and how much it would affect . . . everything? Somehow just give up caring about what happened to you?”

  “Kit, I left you that long letter specifically to explain everything—”

  “What letter? I didn’t get a silly letter. All I found were those papers you left in the study in Whitmoor which lead me here. I know you, and I am sure you have something planned—”

  “Of course I have a plan. Something I have been working on for nearly a year now. Things just got a little . . . sidetracked . . . shall we say? But I am back on course.”

  Kit stared at him for a moment. Would there ever be a time when she wouldn’t worry about Daniel? Concern for her younger brother was one of the constants of her life.

  Like English rain and mud on new shoes, she could always count on Daniel to need rescuing.

  “It’s not your job to rescue me.” Daniel’s gaze pinned her down.

  Ah, so that’s how he was going to play.

  “No. It’s just my job to mop up the messes you make. And this mess”—she spread her arms expansively—“is truly spectacular. I know you think it a fun lark, but this particular adventure of yours could have ghastly repercussions.”

  They regarded each other. Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and bounced a leg. Restless and bounding with energy. That had always been Daniel’s problem. Constant motion—an almost pathological inability to sit still. He needed to be doing, moving from place to place, scrape to scrape.

  He swallowed. “Well, I have never asked you to clean up after me—”

  “When a disaster of this proportion looms, someone has to—”

  “Why don’t you let me live my life? Why do you always interfere?”

  Kit clenched her jaw. “Daniel, this isn’t just about you. Why can you not think beyond yourself?”

  “Don’t you dare throw this back at me.” Anger flared in his eyes. “Just because you don’t like my decisions, doesn’t mean they’re not right. I’m not accountable for your happiness.”

  So typical, Wicked Angel muttered. He never takes responsibility for anything. Remember the time he got ridiculously sloshed, drove himself home and careened into that ditch—

  He did apologize to the farmer for the broken fence, Virtuous Angel countered.

  Gah! You’re such a Goody Two-Shoes. Don’t you remember there was a horse involved with the whole thing? Wicked Angel said. The poor animal was never the same—

  “Don’t tell me you still do the shoulder angel thing?” Daniel said, noticing her distraction. He stared at her with a cocked eyebrow, his face a textbook of little brother mockery.

  Kit just pressed her lips together. Comments like that would get him nowhere.

  But it does underscore why you are here, Virtuous Angel murmured. No one else knows you even have shoulder angels.

  No one but her crazy, frustrating, beloved little brother.

  Kit swallowed past a sudden burning lump in her throat.

  “Daniel, you are the only family I have. I cannot and will not lose you.”

  “I am not your only family.” Daniel turned on that annoying-brother smile. “I mean, you do have your shoulder angels . . .”

  The lump in her throat instantly evaporated. Kit fixed him with her glacial big-sister stare. Teasing was not going to get him anywhere.

  He squirmed a tad. “Right. Well.”

  “Daniel, you must come home. If you don’t . . . it just doesn’t bear thinking upon. I could . . . we could lose it all. The house, the title, everything will revert to the Crown. Everything our family has ever been will just . . . poof. Evaporate.”

  Daniel held his arms tighter across his chest. The bouncing of his leg turning to pacing. Back and forth, back and forth.

  “Kit, I am truly sorry.” Daniel gestured futilely. “But we don’t live in the Dark Ages, for heaven’s sake. You are a modern woman! You don’t need me and my title to provide a roof over your head. You have money of your own—”

  Kit fought back the stab of pain which flickered through her chest. Somehow she hoped Daniel had planned on coming home all along. That he truly hadn’t simply neglected to think through how his actions would affect her.

  Wrong. She had been so wrong.

  “Money I cannot currently access, thanks to your little shenanigans here. And who knows how things will change if you don’t return with me.”

  “I am hardly your savior, Kit.”

  Anger nearly blinded her for a moment. How could he be so callous?

  “Do you think I enjoy working as a paid companion? That I relish hearing Lady Ruby’s arrogant voice—”

  “Paid companion?”

  “Yes, Daniel. I am employed at Haldon Manor as a companion to Lady Ruby.”

  Daniel stopped his pacing and stared at her like she had sprouted horns.

  “But . . . but . . . why?”

  “You know, so I can have a roof over my head, food to eat . . . that sort of thing.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened in confusion.

  “How—” He shook his head. “Kit, how long have you been uhm . . . working for Lady Ruby?”

  It was Kit’s turn to tap her foot. “Five weeks, Daniel.”

  His head reared back as he hissed in a breath.

  “Five weeks?!” he gasped. “You have been here for five weeks? Kit are you mad?”

  “Daniel, you had disappeared! What did you expect me to do?”

  “But . . . but I came back. I just had to go take care of some things, but I returned home—”

  “You did? I didn’t know that. You just left without a word!”

  Ugh! That was always his line—‘things’ that needed to be dealt with. Daniel, at least, had the decency to look slightly chagrined.

  “And when you came home, you didn’t think to wonder where I had gone?” Kit asked.

  “Well, I most certainly didn’t think for one moment you would be here. Kit, how could you?”

  How dare he throw this back on her! Kit silently counted to ten.

  Daniel continued on, oblivious to her seething. Or, rather, long immune to it.

  “This is bad, Kit. People everywhere will be looking for you. I mean, I can disappear and no one will think anything of it, but you . . .”

  His voice trailed off. They both knew what her absence meant.

  “Exactly, Daniel. That is exactly the problem—”

  “Look, Kit, I am truly sorry. But . . . things are complicated. Give me a couple days. I can probably at least get us some money so you don’t have to keep working for your keep. I have found a way to earn some ca
sh already. At least enough money until—”

  “Daniel, money isn’t the answer here. I need you. You need to come home with me—”

  Kit stopped abruptly, staring at Daniel’s blue coat. Or rather more precisely, the buttons on his coat.

  Daniel took advantage of her pause to grasp her shoulders.

  “Please, I need you to trust me.”

  But those buttons held Kit’s attention. Brass buttons with a raised shield covered in vines . . .

  Coincidence? What were the chances?

  All the air rushed from her lungs.

  “Daniel,” she whispered, “how do you intend to get money—”

  “Miss Ashton?” A voice called from the other side of the church. An all too familiar voice.

  Drat! Any other time, Marc would be a most welcome sight. But right now . . .

  Daniel instantly stiffened.

  “I’ll be in contact with you,” he whispered, turning to dart into the bushes.

  “Daniel, no! Wait—” Kit grabbed his arm, stopping him.

  “Trust me, Kit. Just this once. I do know what I’m doing.”

  Daniel wrapped her in a quick hug and planted a firm kiss on her cheek next to her mouth.

  And then he was gone.

  Kit stared sightlessly at where he had just been, eyes wide. A sinking sensation rapidly growing in her stomach.

  Sometimes she hated that she knew her brother so well.

  “Am I . . . interrupting something?” Marc’s voice came from right behind her. Far too close not to have seen Daniel’s exit.

  Was Daniel part of the group who had robbed Marc? What would Daniel do next? And would his actions destroy both their futures?

  And even worse, how was she going to explain Daniel to Marc?

  Chapter 11

  Marc had plainly seen the hug and kiss which preceded the disappearance of a man into the shrubbery.

  A tallish, dark-haired man, to be exact. Precisely as she asked him in the library.

  The shock of it hit hard. Like a swift round kick to the head, leaving him reeling and wanting to hurt something. Or, rather, a tallish, dark-haired someone.

  Was she flirting outrageously with Marc while carrying on a love affair with this other man?

  And why had she asked if this man—clearly the one he had just seen—had been involved in Marc’s fictional robbery?

  Secrets, indeed.

  Kit whirled around to face him, a too bright smile pasted on her face.

  “Marc! What an unexpected delight to see you—”

  “Unexpected would seem to be the right word.” The drawl just escaped him.

  Wind tugged at his hat, swirling his caped coat around his legs. Man, it was bitterly cold today. But the frigid wind hadn’t stopped Kit from venturing out to meet this man. She was clearly up to something.

  Marc knew he was supposed to be laying low, not wandering out and about. But hanging around Haldon Manor doing nothing to track down the blackmailer . . . he just couldn’t sit still a second longer. He had to be doing. And so he had asked Arthur to let him ride into Marfield. Begged, actually. Swearing and promising to do nothing suspicious.

  But then, at a distance, he had seen Kit darting through Marfield, obviously looking for something, and had to follow her. Maybe hoping to find out more of her secrets.

  He had not been disappointed.

  The strength of his reaction surprised him. Why should he care who she was hugging and kissing? Sure he and she flirted with each other, but what did that signify?

  He flirted with nearly every woman who crossed his path. It was like breathing and eating.

  So why was Kit any different?

  Though he tried to shrug it away, she was different from other women he had known.

  The charisma she effortlessly wove? The sense of strength and depth behind her charm? Again, what fire had forged her?

  And why, why, why did he care?

  Nothing could ever come of a relationship with her. So why bother feeling anything other than gentlemanly friendship?

  And how to make his wayward heart see sense over this issue?

  He studied her for a moment. She should look terrible, but instead the wind had burnished her cheeks a rosy pink, turning her eyes more chocolate than honey, accenting the slash of her red mouth. Her cloak pulled tight around her body for warmth.

  How he loved her height, the tall lushness of her. He couldn’t blame Tall Dark-haired Man for wanting to hug and kiss her. Marc wouldn’t mind it himself—

  Stop, stop, stop!

  Not. Going. To. Happen.

  Marc sucked in a deep breath and mentally shrugged off any awareness of her.

  He was a twenty-first century man. He could be understanding about the whole scenario. It was not as if he cared.

  Liar.

  “I don’t suppose you would be willing to pretend you didn’t just see that?” She regarded him hopefully. And then batted her eyelashes, giving her shoulders a winsome lift.

  “Does that actually work? The innocent-girl eyelash flutter?”

  Kit batted her eyes one more time and then sighed, dropping the act.

  “Sometimes.” She shrugged, glancing back to where her gentleman caller had just been.

  “Does Mr. Tallish-and-Dark-Haired fall for it?”

  She turned back to Marc, eyes calculating. “Would it help if I said yes?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Worth a try,” Kit muttered with a grimace.

  “I must say, you do seem to get around more than I would anticipate.”

  Okay, he mentally admitted, so maybe he did care that she was randomly embracing other men. What were her secrets?

  Her eyes widened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing really. All the women I outrageously flirt with do this. It’s a fairly standard practice—”

  “Are you finished?”

  “No, no actually, I’m not.” And maybe, he suddenly realized, he wasn’t interested in being all twenty-first century understanding either. “So explain it to me. You play lady’s companion by day, while at night—”

  “Pardon me, Lord Vader. What exactly are you insinuating?”

  Ah, so now he was Lord Vader?

  “Insinuation? Hardly. The scene seemed fairly self-explanatory to me.”

  “How dare you!” Kit crossed her arms and glared.

  “Who me?” He pointed to his chest in mock disbelief. “I am not the one lurking around shrubbery kissing random men. Which, if I may point out, is really an ineffective way to ensnare a man. The tavern in the Old Boar Inn would be a more fertile hunting ground. Warmer, for one. Not to mention drunks probably litter the floor, ripe for picking—”

  “Now are you finished?”

  “Not a chance. I mean, you could at least share the wealth—”

  Kit threw her hands up in disgust. “Now, you are just being ugly—”

  “Hardly!”

  She was right. He totally was.

  But whatever. He pressed on with a bark of laughter. “I think you lost any shred of holier-than-thou high ground as soon as you decided to lock lips with—”

  “Lock lips? Either you didn’t see what happened clearly, or we need to update your understanding of exactly how kissing works—”

  “Hey, I am not judging. What you see here” —he waved a hand in front of his face— “is devoid of judginess.”

  It was a lie. He was totally judging her. But again . . . whatever.

  “You are finished.” She silenced him with a slice of her hand. “You clearly have misinterpreted what you think you saw—”

  “Right. And I am supposed to believe you . . . why?” He cocked his head to the side, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Marc . . .” said warningly.

  At least he was back to being Marc.

  “Oh, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “Because I know you are keeping big secrets from me, and this isn’t part of your big secret bec
ause . . .”

  Marc rolled his hand encouragingly. Please explain.

  Her shoulders sagged. “Marc, I want to tell you. Truly, I do but—”

  He held up a staying hand and arched an amused eyebrow. Ensuring every part of him communicated his disbelief.

  She stuttered to a stop. And then heaved a great sigh.

  He just raised his eyebrow higher and crossed his arms, shaking his head back and forth slowly.

  “Nice try, but I’m not letting you off that easily. Come on. Talk.” He beckoned with his fingers.

  Kit fidgeted for a moment, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. A vagrant gust of winter wind darted between them, tugging at Marc’s greatcoat and further chilling his toes in his boots. Kit shivered.

  Seeing her cold and miserable faded his anger.

  She had secrets. So what? So did he. They just needed to trust each other.

  Well . . . she needed to trust him, at least.

  Glancing back at the church behind them, Marc offered her his arm.

  “Here. It’s freezing. Let’s duck inside the church out of this wind, and you can tell me all your darkest secrets. Also, I do believe there was some mention about broadening my understanding of kissing.” He pasted on a cheery grin.

  Kit just glared at him, chewing the inside of her cheek. And then with a disgusted shake of her head, hooked her hand into his elbow, allowing him to lead her into the church.

  Though no warmer on the inside, the church did provide shelter from the biting wind. Marc’s boots echoed on the worn flagstone as he directed Kit to a bench at the back of the short nave. Light filtered dimly through the arched stained-glass windows, dancing in colored beams on the pews as they sat down side-by-side, shoulders nearly touching.

  “So, Miss Ashton. I am honored you could join me here today. I believe you had something you wished to share.” He mimicked her look from earlier, batting his eyelashes and lifting his shoulders winsomely.

  With a resigned shake of her head, Kit laughed.

  “Does that innocent-girl eyelash flutter actually work?” she taunted.

  Marc grinned and leaned even closer, whispering conspiratorially. “Every. Single. Time.”

  She pursed her lips together, turning her head to stare into the empty church. And then reached up a hand and untied her serviceable bonnet, pulling it off her head, tossing it onto the bench next to her. Marc followed her lead, placing his beaver hat next to him. Though most of her hair was neatly tucked into a bun, a few curls sprang free to hang along her neck.